


Here's Your Rose

by Softpunkrock



Category: Faction Secrets
Genre: Come Shot, Grinding, Other, Seven Minutes In Heaven, non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:19:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Softpunkrock/pseuds/Softpunkrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stahp</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's Your Rose

The debate party was nearing its end when the host, Robbie, decided it would be a good idea to play seven minutes in heaven. You reluctantly joined the circle with a little encouragement from the overly enthusiastic Sam Ross. Robbie joined the circle last, with a hat full of scribbled names of everyone in the class. Voices muttered to each other, waiting in apprehension for the dirty blonde to call who was going first. "Hmm, let's go with a novice first. Y/N! Come pick a name!"    
  
Taking a deep breath to garner some sort of strength, you march over to the hat like a soldier go back into the humid hellholes of ‘Nam. You thrust your arm into the hat and rummaging around, while silently praying to any deity listening to get someone who wouldn’t kill your social life in speech and debate before it even started. Withdrawing your hand with the gentleness of a 6’4”, 300lbs gynecologist, you hurry and unfold the name in your damp hand. You look and your stomach drops all the way to hell, coincidentally the same place your soon to be “lover” is from. “C’mon, don’t be a pussy. Read it,” a five-foot small noodle of Jew commands. Your life is done  and you know it, might as well get it over with. “Ryan,” you say with the enthusiasm of a recently diagnosed AIDS patient. You know the cliche of it being so silent you could hear a pin drop, well now you couldn’t hear the second tower drop with the laughter filling the room. “Which. Ha. OH MY GOD. HAHAHA. Mmm. Which Ryan,my little freshman,” asked your DI captain with the seemingly cranberry inspired hairstyle. “Yeah, the sexist,homophobic racist or… Oh wait,” quips the suspiciously tan girl who you’ve heard be called literally everything other than an actual name. Before you can even utter a word, the frankly intimidating, curly-haired chick with the nose ring rips the slip out of your hand. She turns to you and damningly says,“Y/N, must have killed Jesus in a past life. Ryan Castellano, it’s your lucky day.” The room erupts, yet again. The black haired, polite Korean girl you knew was in speech and debate last year, with a pitying look on her face, lets you know you don’t have to do it. The pity drops from her face and a smirk is in its place, “You can do Ryan Bernard instead!” You have had enough of the jokes, so you speedily grab Ryan and go to the closet. You stand staring at your private portal to hell. An Indian girl with on point eyeliner shoves you two into the closet and locks the door. “Knock three times if you need condoms.” You blink to adjust to the darkness. The first two minutes crawl by slowly with the awkwardness thick enough to cut with a fucking machete, complemented by your ass pressed against Ryan’s rapidly swelling meat poker. As the halfway point limps in like a mauled toddler, Ryan begins to grind against your ass, panting wet,heavy breaths into your ear. His tongue flicks out and sloppily drags slowly up your ear, trailing drool behind it. “OKAY.NOPE.GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME YOU 2006 DOUCHEBAGGY WEASEL. ROMANCE TRULY IS FUCKING DEAD AND SO IS GOD.” Your screams make him grip onto you hard enough to bruise. “It’s okay baby girl, I’ll be your new god. And it’s your lucky day, I have a rose for you right here,” he lowly croons into your ear. Taking one hand off your arm, you hear a zipper be pulled down. Soon you hear the unmistakable sounds of moist flesh beating against each other, and what is that. It sounds like crusty panko being shook off tempura shrimp. “Here’s your rose, baby.” Your scream of utter terror when you saw the veiny, pale stump surrounded by a forest of dark,damp, musty brown hair had the door being wrenched open. You both tumble out. You are stilled by the shock long enough for him to finish, shooting his sticky, salty sauce right into your eye. Blinded and stung you are helpless as your teammates look on in horror. “See you next Sunday, honeyslut,” your demon says as he drags his tongue clumsily across your eye. You curse the day you ever joined this world.


End file.
